


A Working

by hyperconformist



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crying, Dom!Elias, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John is overwhelmed, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, M/M, Platonic BDSM, Season/Series 01, Sleep, no beta we die like archive assistants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperconformist/pseuds/hyperconformist
Summary: Elias likes to control, John has a bit of a cry. Weird platonic/emotional bdsm vibes. Early Series 1, I guess.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	A Working

In the course of his career, Elias Bouchard had had cause to study enough magical workings that he well understood the general pattern of such things. The ritual steps build and concentrate the energy; the magician then bends it to his Will. The costumes and the magic words may change but that’s always the essence of it. 

Perhaps it’s interesting that his intimate relationships adhere to the same pattern. Oh of course - the carefully nurtured kindling of tension, then the release, well,  _ that’s _ familiar enough. 

But at a further level his personal workings take channelled power, subjugate it to his own will and transmogrify it. It’s not even always sexual- not necessarily. It’s about power exchange, at its simplest. 

As with the work of a magician it’s also about balanced transactions. Smirke had the sense of it in a way his students and biographers have never quite seemed to recognise. Elias, for his part, takes the control and to replace it he offers...his control. To those who find relief and comfort in submission, deconstruction and being controlled. It is the archetypal folkloric deal: relief of a burden, for a price.

Elias is an Adept at dominating. He has always had an unerring intuition of how to look directly inside and work out a person’s knots of resistance and hang-ups and then know exactly when to apply a strong will and a firm hand to finalise the transaction. Mostly they were grateful, too. 

It’s seldom a painless process but it can be a profound one, he finds. It’s been some time since he participated in BDSM clubs; to be honest the aesthetic turned him off. And Safe, Sane and Consensual had never really meant much to him. But sometimes he just looks at someone and he  _ knows _ , he sees a frustrated submissive and feels inspired to relieve that burden, channel that energy to his own ends. He’s good at seeing people. Often, those ones find  _ him _ .

Jonathan Sims had been a mildly interesting case and Elias had taken note of him as soon as he started at the Institute. As much as he was a promising candidate to be groomed for the role of Archivist - such as it was - he was also one of those souls who caught the eye of someone with Elias’s specific intuitions. The man might as well have been a walking neon sign of repressed and unmet needs, even as he was unconscious of them himself. So on a slow week, when the opportunity presented itself Elias decided to do one of his own workings. 

~~~~

Elias didn’t often have problems from the Institute’s Library staff. They were a motivated and close knit team of professionals, who largely served as the public face of the Institute to the majority of its visitors, and a good job they did of it. The Library was one of the nicer parts of the building, a proper early 19th century reading room with beautifully preserved original fixtures and furniture. And a strict reading room and access policy - even for internal staff who had to fill out a request and wait for Library staff to produce their books, to an allotted desk in that cool, silent space.

It was the system they had always had, it worked well enough and most importantly, challenging it would have irked the Librarians. 

So Elias had found himself having to summon his new Head Archivist to his office and was, yet again, explaining this system, laid out clearly enough in the Institute’s policy documents. Not content with trying to re-organise the Archive, the painfully obtuse man was insisting that his staff should be able to circumvent the Library’s production system when doing their own research. This had led to this morning’s shouting match with the Head Librarian, a dedicated professional who had been in the role for many years. It seemed John didn't seem to grasp, or didn't want to grasp concepts like diplomacy or even the limits of his own authority. No, he’d seen a way to make the system more efficient and was apparently going to keep trying to hammer this square peg into a round hole. 

First stage: let him wear himself out, let him burn off his anxious energy until he’s worn down enough to follow Elias’ lead in the proceedings. It seems unkind really, but in the long run it’s for his own good. 

He hadn’t even sat down, stalking into Elias office in a foul mood and ready to argue his case. Elias was impressed with how the man he’d plucked from Research to head the Archives managed to keep up the sheer pomposity, and even more so he didn't seem to see what a transparent facade it was to cover up his obvious insecurity in his role. Always brittle and uptight, he’d just doubled down since his promotion. (I’m sorry, John, we can't hear you over your imposter syndrome). It had been a shame to have to pass over Sasha, but still. She’d always been Gertrude’s choice, anyway.

Yes, John’s facade, his brittle pride was a burden he really ought to be relieved of, Elias had decided. Not only for the sake of his role as the Archivist but because it simply wasn’t sustainable. Anyone putting up resistance in life, anyone pushing or causing friction as a way of being in the world was really asking, plainly, to be met with corrective force. As antagonism screams fight me, haughtiness screams overthrow me and emotional lability screams pin me down. Either way, they’re all inviting his domination in their own way. Elias  _ sees it all so clearly _ , he was often caused to wonder why others didn't want to read this language of subtext and power.

He sat behind his minimally adorned antique desk and regarded his Archivist. The man looked utterly  _ weary _ , as ever. (As he should. Elias has been firing deliciously Kafkaesque admin tasks at him all week on top of his existing backlog of work to prepare him for this). Making no deference to his new role or salary as a manager John persisted in dressing like, well, an academic. Even among the research assistants he’d stood out, where a lot of the younger hires tended towards office casual with emphasis on the casual. John, however, looked like he was auditioning for a role as a university lecturer in a cosy ITV crime drama. Probably the one who turned out to be the killer. 

John had some rather sneering remarks to make about the importance of the work the Archive and Researchers were doing, compared to the Library which merely served a handful of PhD students or press on any given week. He actually had a point, but no one was stepping forward to fund a basement archive of anomalies and locked up artefacts, whereas a photogenic historic private library made for a respectable face and looked good on publicity materials and funding bids. 

Slowly and deliberately Elias pushed aside his neatly arranged paperwork, sighed. “John, do you even know what’s going on here? I’ve had to take time out of my work to call you up here and tell you - in no uncertain terms - that you and your staff are to abide by Institute bloody policy. This isn’t a discussion.” Elias allowed his own voice to raise slightly. “Do you even think of the uncomfortable position you’re putting your assistants in?”

The archivist glared. “I’ve had no complaints from them….” Elias regards him steadily. “Th-They’ve not complained, have they?”

Already, the energy of indignation falters and uncertainty takes its place. John could of course just give in but no, the ritual steps have to be followed. Elias thinks that he understands the puppeteering joy of the web sometimes.

“How would you know? I’ve given you ample time to settle into the role, perhaps you could actually start doing your job as a manager. I see little sign you’re overseeing their work, were you even aware that both Martin and Sasha were researching the same statement last week? Ah...I see not.” 

“Martin is -” 

“-And on the subject of  _ your _ work, I see you still haven’t sent me those cataloguing statistics I asked for.” 

Elias gauged the glare had shifted into sullen acceptance of a telling off. A little glimpse back in time, there - John must have been an endearingly infuriating child. He allows a small pause before continuing and John doesn’t bother to jump in to shout him down.

“John. I shouldn't have to tell you you’ve been handed an opportunity here. I expect you to show some professionalism, so stop acting like a petulant teenager.”

John replied, thickly, that he was coping. He was perfectly able to do his job. Started explaining that Gertrude had left the archive in, frankly, a shocking state of disarray but then had the rare self-awareness to stop blaming his predecessor for his problems. 

He really did look tired, now. He was wrongfooted and started making stammered excuses about the statistics not being available for the whole period, Gertrude hadn’t...it was...he trailed off, awkwardly under Elias’ unimpressed gaze. The dog ate my homework, Sir.

“Well. Quite. You know I can’t just sign you off sick again. I know you were having some ... _ problems _ for a while back in Research but if you’re feeling a little  _ overwhelmed _ I’m afraid you're just going to have to find a way to cope. You have your Assistants relying on you, after all.”

Just remind him how out of his depth he is, and then shovel the last bit of pressure on top. To be honest, Elias tells him, if you’re just going to pick fights with the other professional staff, I’d prefer you continue hiding in your office, at this point. 

Looking forlorn, the Archivist sighed that he understood. His meagre energy was burned low now. And then he couldn’t really find an excuse for the fact he’d been staying late most nights, yes, he knew lone-working in the archives was a risk. He was reminded that he should be organising to work late with his assistants if he found it necessary at all. Obviously, he wouldn’t do that as he was scared of them.

Ah, there it was. The man’s eyes were actually pricking and slightly glossy with tears he was desperately trying to ignore. He couldn't control the breaking of his voice, when Elias handed him a list of priority statements he wanted to see recorded by the end of the week and he had to query that time scale, overwhelmed as he was. So tired, so emotionally drained. Don’t worry, John, just give up. Make the deal and give up. It’s alright.

It’s time to make a move to dismiss him. Elias glances at his watch. 

Get back to work, then. You know - the job we’ve just established you can't do. 

The responsibility that’s wearing you out. 

The assistants who intimidate you. 

Power exchange. Just follow the steps and the ritual always works. As The Archivist loses control of himself, that control passes to Elias, with a frisson of energy. Before the remaking, comes this, the breakdown.

Before he can even make a move to the door, the tears are falling and he breaks down, clasping a hand to his mouth and hunching forward as great barking sobs are ripped from somewhere deep inside him. It’s almost alarming, the rawness. It’s certainly a lot of feeling to be spilling out all at once. What a mess. He needs this, though. He _ has _ been very stressed.

“ _ Oh for Christ’s sake _ ...Now John, get a grip.” John is lost to his own misery though and continues to sob uncontrollably as Elias reminds him that this office isn't exactly soundproof. What must Rosie think? He is beyond caring. Hands drawn up to his face, shoulders hunched, he is a picture of defeat and hysterical misery still standing on the edge of his own latest abyss in the middle of a spacious office. It is a small but important step, the shame that comes with the breakdown. You can't absolve someone until they feel shame, after all. 

Then John is fully over the edge and after long plaintive moments Elias judges it time to step over and take his Archivist in hand. John responds to a perfunctory pat on the shoulder by collapsing against his boss in renewed breathless convulsions. This is more than just a meeting with a disapproving manager, to Elias’ gratification this is the breaking of years of tension he is presiding over.

Putting up one last token resistance, Elias sighs in theatrical exasperation as the Archivist buries his face in the crook of his boss’ neck. His shirt is getting damp and John is clinging to him pathetically. Since John is now truly exhausted and actually asking for comfort, Elias can finally relent: hugging him, rocking him gently and shushing him. Switching to a rare softer tone and murmuring reassurance and sympathy until his Archivist manages to get control of his breathing and is merely snuffling sadly and, continuing to cling, limply letting Elias support him. There there. Poor thing. Shh.

What to do with him? Elias is now running fingers through John's hair as they still stand together in the middle of the office, John soaking up all the care and comfort he can, Elias finds he’s practically holding him up. He’s emotionally spent and probably ready for a nap. Elias considers the worn chesterfield on the far side of his office. Or he briefly considers that he could send him out to crawl back down to the Archives basement, running the gauntlet of busy institute corridors. After all, there were times when it was useful to release a crying employee from his office, regular grist for the office gossip mill to keep morale from getting too high. But not today.

John allowed himself to be guided over to the sofa, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Like a child still mad at a parent, it seemed he was sullenly refusing to be contrite or apologise even as he was silently accepting the caretaking. Often, Elias finds, they are in something of a state of grace by now, transformed by submission. Oh well. Elias grabbed his own wool overcoat from the coat stand and tucked it around John’s slight form. He was pliant and let himself be settled and soothed, face turned toward the worn leather, he was soon dozing off.

Elias returned to his desk to work, alternating between emails, an annual report and a screen of CCTV views of the Institute building. Many of the camera thumbnails were blank or obscured by static, the engineers who installed them didn’t seem to be able to fix the problem. The cameras around the Archive’s basement level were all but blind.    
John stayed out for most of the afternoon. He really had needed the rest.

~~~~

The Archivist dreamed of another time he’d found himself sleeping under someone else's coat. It had been one of his childhood expeditions. He didn't remember where or why he’d gone AWOL that particular time but the return journey...well he’d been picked up by the police and taken home. As it happened he'd been coming down with something, a bit feverish and shivery and must have looked particularly young and vulnerable because the police were kind and gentle with him. It had needled his precocious 12 year old’s pride even as he drank in their kindness. He’d dozed on the back seat, dimly aware of streetlights and wet streets passing by the window, the staticky burble of the radio, comforted under a policeman’s heavy jacket. It had felt nice. Getting the kind of attention he didn’t get at home. In all those years since, it had been best not to examine the needy part of him he’d become aware of on that night. Something so needy that even a few reassuring words from a stranger doing his job had his heart aching strangely. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally got over myself and posted my first fic. (Would have thought it would have been something more kinky, tbh).


End file.
